Timothy Bracken is the self-professed “worst banterer alive.” Prefacing songs with the ironic, humorous, or playfully disturbing (“Here’s a song about little girls”), he has made an increasingly known name for himself. It probably also helps that he writes sharp pop songs, toys with the blues, and delivers it with a vocal lurch akin to Okay or Rivers Cuomo. Originally from the Baltimore area, Bracken studied percussion in school and drummed in a few bands. Teaching himself guitar and bass, he began to write songs that would lead to his first big break at Iota in ’99.
Playing bass with Junestar, Tim was tapped to perform a few songs to kill time while a fellow bandmate restrung his guitar. Impressed with his talents, Iota invited him back to open for Todd Snider, which encouraged and propelled his musical output. Unfortunately, contract battles with his independent label postponed the release of his first LP, Disrepair, until 2003. Since a job change last September, Bracken has had more time to focus on recording and playing shows with his full band and solo. His next album, Long Untied, is slated for release at the end of the summer.
At the Galaxy Hut this past Sunday, the one weakness of the Complex’s performance was their loudness – in the small confines of Galaxy Hut, their own music worked against them, forcing the crowd to focus more on spikes of loud sounds rather than the melodies and comfortable rhythms within. Their performance would have worked better with the amps and drum kit dialed down or in a school-dance setting. This is no disrespect to Complex, but rather shows their rocking yet heartfelt appeal. Their live show is mostly solid blues and hard rock, with some pop songs and folk structure thrown in. The 60s blues rock of their show on Sunday contrasted radically with the poppy songs on their MySpace page. Their blues influences were strong: in addition to Mr. Bracken’s steady rhythm guitar, they had Phoebus Spiliotopoulos on lead guitar, spinning wonderful melodies so seamless they sounded like keyboards or silk on the side of your face.
The blues or pop question persisted throughout the set’s undulations. “Unmade” displayed gently churning rhythms and a pastoral charm similar to Badly Drawn Boy. Yet the guitars and drums on “Waiting Room” (and a few other songs about young love) were undoubtedly rock, lacking the high note/low note textures and cadence of most pop. “Waiting Room” did, however, feature subdued, aqueous vocals — like those made famous by pop/blues specialists Robert Pollard or the Beatles. “Long Way Nowhere” followed. What began with soaring and peaceful instrumentation turned into an Aerosmith rock-out by the end.
